


Emerald Satin

by Sincestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP without Porn, Panty Kink, Sibling Incest, obligatory(?) dean in panties fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: He’s tired and he’s sore and that’s what makes him forget all about just exactly what he’s wearing under his jeans.  And by the time he remembers (right about when air hits his thighs and Sam makes a strangled noise from behind him), it’s too damned late.  He tries to recover anyway, pulls his jeans up quickly and turns around to face Sam, still struggling to get them fastened.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on that long fic. But here's something I've been wanting to write for a while. It's been done so many times (and so much better even), but I couldn't help myself. All mistakes are mine (and there are probably plenty because I wrote this on my tablet).

Dean picks up the scrap of green satin from the bottom of his duffle and eyes it warily. On one hand, it’s the last clean thing even slightly resembling underwear in his bag. And that should be enough to make him decide to go commando. Except he’s never really liked free ballin’ and the panties would at least keep everything from shifting too much.

Dean sighs and eyes the underwear he took off before his shower and contemplates wearing them again. But he’s already worn them right side out and inside out. Plus, he’s _clean_ and the thought of putting on dirty underwear isn’t a pleasant one.

Finally he shrugs and bends down to slip the smooth material over his feet and then up his legs. And it’s nice. It really is. He bought these shortly after they got set up in the bunker thinking that since he had a room of his own, he could explore that long buried kink Rhonda awoke in him. But, for some reason, it just hadn’t been the same.

He’d tried wearing them while masturbating and also just out and about, which is how they ended up in his duffle. And the appeal was just gone. Oh, they still felt nice. Hugged him and held him tight. Felt good when he rubbed his fingers over material so luxurious that it had no place on his rough, worn body. But the thrill, that gut clenching shock of ‘oh fuck yes’ just wasn’t there. So he’d dropped them into his bag and intended to toss them the next chance he got away from Sam’s prying eyes. And promptly forgot them.

Until now. And he’s kinda grateful. So he’ll give them one last spin. Hell wear them today just to keep his junk in order. And, at some point, he’ll buy some new underwear and be safely in them before he climbs into bed with Sam tonight. Because if Sam ever sees Dean in these things, he’ll never live it down.

Dean steps into his jeans and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the dresser as he stands back up. And wow. He lets his jeans rest at his knees and just takes a minute to admire the view. They may not hold the same appeal as they did back then, but they still look damn good on him. It’s almost obscene, the way his dick bulges at the front of the panties. And when it starts to get hard, straining the fabric a bit, he groans and runs his hand over the hardening flesh, thinking about what it would look like if he started to leak. There would be a dark, sticky spot on the front and it’d be so slick.

Before he can get to that point, the door knob of their motel room rattles and he’s jerking his jeans up, trying to hide both his semi (because Sam would surely offer his assistance with it) and the panties. Thankfully, he succeeds and Sam walks into the room and puts their coffee on the table, none the wiser.

And that’s really all the thought Dean gives to his unusual attire for the rest of the day. They have a lot on their plates. People to interview. Ghosts to hunt. Bones to salt and burn. And by the time they get back to their room, Dean is beat to hell from being thrown into walls. Really, he’s getting too old for this shit. So they decide to get some sleep before heading back to the bunker.

He’s tired and he’s sore and that’s what makes him forget all about just exactly what he’s wearing under his jeans. And by the time he remembers (right about when air hits his thighs and Sam makes a strangled noise from behind him), it’s too damned late. He tries to recover anyway, pulls his jeans up quickly and turns around to face Sam, still struggling to get them fastened.

His face is burning when he looks up and meets Sam’s eyes, but his embarrassment quickly turns to confusion when Sam’s face isn’t smug and smiling like he expects. Instead, there’s pain and anger and Dean is so confused.

“Sam?”

Sam’s voice is low and dangerous when he speaks, and it sends a shiver up Dean’s spine, “You said there was no one else, Dean. Just me. You said…” Sam trails off and he drops his gaze, staring at Dean’s crotch as if he can see the panties through the denim.

And it only takes a few seconds for Dean to understand what Sam thinks. And suddenly, Sam knowing he might have had a panty kink at one point is fine. Perfectly fine. As long as Sam stops thinking Dean’s been cheating on him. Right now.

“Sammy, stop. They’re mine, okay? No one else’s.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head eyes still trained somewhere around Dean’s groin, “You expect me to believe you wear women’s panties? You forget that we’ve been sharing space all our lives? And in the last few years, I’ve been the one to undress you almost every night. I _know_ you, Dean. You don’t wear women’s clothes.”

“Not women’s, are they? These are men’s panties. I bought ‘em. I wear ‘em. I am a man. Therefore, _men’s panties_.”

“But you don’t, Dean. You _don’t_ wear them. Why would you… unless… do you… is it a _thing_ for you? Panties?” And Sam doesn’t sound disgusted or even accusatory. He just sounds like he’s trying to understand. Like he wants to believe any explanation that doesn’t involve Dean being unfaithful.

“Okay, look, here’s the thing,” Dean starts, scratching nervously at the back of his neck for a second before waving Sam toward one bed while he sits across from him on the other, “it was a thing once. Some chick wanted to see me in her panties and the promise of sex was thrown in the mix and I put ‘em on. And I _really_ liked it. A lot.”

“You’re blushing again. God. Twice in a matter of minutes. You must really like it. Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have laughed, Dean. See? Not laughing.”

“But that’s just it, Sammy. It was, apparently, a one hit wonder kind of kink. I bought these because I r kept thinking about how it felt, how hot it was. But when I put them on it just wasn’t anymore. I mean, it was nice. But it wasn’t nearly as good as it was then. I’m only wearing them now because I didn’t have any clean underwear. And I forgot to throw them away.” Dean shrugs and finally meets Sam’s eyes again, hoping that’s the end of it. But Sam’s got this look on his face. And Dean doesn’t know whether to be excited or scared.

“So you’re just going to toss them?”

Dean nods and Sam’s smile grows.

“Lemme see.”

And something about the way Sam’s looking at him sends a dark thrill through him and he shivers.

“You… you want to see?” He squeaks, actually fucking _squeaks_. And now he’s wondering if he was right about it just not being as good now because there’s definitely a stirring going on downstairs.

Sam bites his lip and lets his eyes wander downward. Tilting his head to the side, like he’s still deciding how serious he is about the situation, he asks, “Are you embarrassed?”

Dean almost says no. And he’s pretty sure he could fake his way through if he had to. But something tells him that Sam _wants_ him to be shy about this. So he goes with the truth.

“A little.”

Sam inhales sharply at Dean’s admission and the atmosphere changes substantially when his dark eyes raise to lock onto Dean’s again. Oh yeah. This is going somewhere _good_. And that feeling is back. That filthy twist in his stomach that he got the first time he shimmied into pink satin is settling in for the long haul and Dean is _so_ on board. No matter how hot his face feels.

“Then yeah. I really wanna see.”

“Shit,” Dean breathes, standing so fast he almost topples over into Sam. Sam reaches up with one hand and bridges the short distance between their bodies. He steadies Dean from his spot on the other bed with a warm hand at Dean’s hip. Strong and sure. And this might be even better than the first time. He isn’t being coerced and he feels safe.

And then both of Sam’s hands are on him, playing at the button of Dean’s jeans, eyes questioning again. Making sure Dean really wants this. And when Dean nods just once, Sam pops the button with no hesitation. Then he’s slowly lowering the zip, still holding Dean’s gaze. He swears he can hear every tooth snap free, he and Sam are that silent, suspended in the moment.

When Sam peels Dean’s fly open, his eyes drop and Dean stops breathing, so nervous about Sam’s response. It all hinges on how Sam reacts to seeing his big brother in panties. If Sam finds it too weird or just not that interesting, it’s all over. And Dean doesn’t really want it to be over.

“Oh god,” Sam sighs, inching Dean’s jeans farther down his thighs, “Shit, Dean. You’re fucking dripping wet.”

And when the tip of Sam’s finger rubs against the wet material barely covering Dean’s cock, he groans letting his head fall back, focusing on the ceiling because he can’t look at Sam right now. He’s too turned on, too embarrassed. And God if that isn’t a fanfuckingtastic combination.

“Thought you said it was a one time thing. This does not look like a one time thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leak this much.” Sam sounds awed and maybe just as into this as Dean is. And because of that, the fact that Sam isn’t disgusted, Dean finds that he can draw in enough oxygen to explain. Because, yeah, he can be dense. But this is so fucking obvious. And he’s sort of surprised he didn’t realize it before.

“It’s not the panties. Or not _just_ the panties,” Dean draws in another shaky breath, still studying the stains on the ceiling as Sam’s fingers continue to ghost over his erection, “It’s having an audience. You… um… having you here, seeing me, is what makes it such a turn on.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” Dean answers, swallowing hard when Sam suddenly leans forward to plant a hot, soft, open mouthed kiss over the head of Dean’s prick through the panties. And maybe, just maybe, he whimpers. A little bit.

Sam chuckles, low and filthy, and then he adjusts the waistband of the panties so that Dean feels cool air rush over the tip of his damp cock. It’s trapped there now, between his pelvis and the panties, just the head peeking out. And Sam moans .

“Look so good like that, Dean. I wanna see all of you. Bet your ass looks fucking amazing in those.”

Another jolt of arousal shoots through Dean’s body and then he’s in motion, eager to shed every layer between his body and his brother’s heated stare. Sam scoots back and gives Dean room to move. And he just watches, hungry, as Dean’s clothes drop to the floor. Everything but the emerald green panties.

Sam’s eyes rake over every inch of Dean’s body as if he’s seeing it for the first time and the way he licks his lips makes goose flesh rise on Dean’s arms. He’s never felt quite like this, so goddamn sexy and so shy but also oddly bold. He feels like a conundrum as he stands, almost fidgeting in front of his younger brother, waiting for instruction.

Sam seems to just get that he’s in charge here because he only allows Dean a few seconds of unsure swaying before he orders, “Turn around,” and Dean complies instantly. Which isn’t necessarily unusual for him. Sometimes Sam gets bossy and Dean goes with it so as not to ruin the mood. But this isn’t that. Dean _wants_ to follow Sam’s commands. He wants to submit. And he doesn’t even question it because it feels good. Right. At least for now.

“ _Fuck, Dean_ ,” Sam whispers, one hand reaching out to grip Dean’s right cheek, “You’re even hotter than I imagined. This the only pair you have?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to get more. I want to see you in red lace. Black satin. Shit, Dean, pink. You’d look so…” Sam bites off the sentence with a groan, “Yeah. We need more. Get up on the bed. Hands and knees.”

Dean’s head is spinning with all the possibilities. Sam’s enthusiasm is contagious and Dean wishes he had a whole drawer full of panties for Sam to choose from. Whichever color and material he wants.

Later, Dean thinks. He’s going to take Sam to the store and they’re going to grab every pair that catches his attention and Dean will wear them whenever Sam wants. All the fucking time if that’s what he wants. He’ll live in women’s underwear if Sam wants it. But right now he’s going to work these for all he’s worth. And he wastes no time climbing up onto the bed in front of him, his ass turned toward the other bed where Sam is still seated.

“Spread your legs a little, baby.”

Dean almost collapses under the pet name and he’d be willing to bet Sam is smirking, the bitch. He _knows_ what that does to Dean. He knows Dean melts under any kind of praise. And he likes it best when Sam is filthy sweet. A nasty demand or request under a layer of sticky sweet.

He does what Sam wants, like always, and opens his legs. And fuck if he doesn’t love it. Being on display in his panties. Posing for Sam’s viewing pleasure. And he hopes Sam touches him soon, but he’d stay just like this for hours if Sam just wanted to look his fill.

“You’re so damn pretty, Dean. Your ass looks so good and your balls are pulled up tight, but they’re still trying to come out the sides. Arch your back, baby, and let your chest fall to the bed. God yes, just like that.”

Dean is shaking now; his heart is racing and his palms are sweating where they’re clinging to the sheets. But he does his best to position himself the way Sam tells him to. He can hear just what this is doing to Sam and he’s not doing much better himself. He just wants Sam to touch him. And he almost cries out when he hears the bed creak and then feels Sam’s presence directly behind him.

Then Sam’s huge hand is reaching between his legs, cupping his balls and then applying glorious pressure up the length of his throbbing cock. And he’s pretty sure he actually does sob then. Just once before he chokes it off, but he knows Sam heard.

“You’re fucking vibrating with need, Dean. I can feel you shaking.”

Dean doesn’t even try to deny it and he doesn’t attempt to speak, sure that if he does, he’ll just end up begging Sam to fuck him.

“Not gonna make you wait any longer, baby,” Sam pulls his hand away and sushes Dean when he whines at the loss, “Reach back here, Dean. Pull your pretty panties down for me, just under your cheeks. And then I want you to grab one in each hand and open yourself up for me. Show me your tight little hole, sweetheart.”

The sound Dean makes is nowhere near human. It’s something like a growl, but it’s a weak, broken thing. And Dean’s hands are trembling as he rushes to follow Sam’s order. He eases the panties down, careful not to pull them too far. Then he’s gripping the plump cheeks of his ass and spread them apart, shivering when the cool air hits his crack.

Sam moans and then presses the pad of one finger to the center of Dean’s pucker. Not entering, just a promise. 

“Look at you. All open and ready for me. God, I could take you dry and you wouldn’t stop me, would you? You need it too much. Holding yourself open, those sweet little panties tucked under your gorgeous ass. I’m still completely dressed, Dean. And I’m going to stay that way.”

Dean whines again, grits his teeth around one word, “Sammy…” Because fuck if that doesn’t make him feel slutty as hell. Naked and practically begging and there’s Sam, still fully clothed and patient.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” Sam says, and then there’s a shift in the air behind Dean right before Sam breathes over his hole. And holy fuck they’ve never done this before. But right now Dean wants it so bad he’s squirming and pulling his cheeks as far apart as he can. And when Sam’s tongue brushes gently over the sensitive skin of his opening Dean keens and then buries his face in the bed to muffle any more embarrassing noises that might come out.

The sounds Sam makes as he tongues at Dean are downright sinful and his thumbs pull the muscle, opening Dean thoroughly so he can dig deeper with his tongue. And Dean feels like he’s on fire. He can feel the precome dripping from his dick, sliding up his stomach a bit before it falls to the bed. And he’s still pinned, his cockhead held tight to his body by the elastic of his panties. Part of him wants to snake a hand down there and strip his dick fast and hard, come everywhere with Sam’s face pressed into the crack of his ass. But Sam didn’t tell him he could. And he is a glutton for punishment. So he bites at his lips and keeps a firm grip on his cheeks. Still sitting so pretty and obedient while Sam takes his time tasting him.

God, Sam is messy too. Saliva runs down Dean’s taint and catches on the satin, making it sloppy wet. But still Sam doesn’t stop, slurs at Dean, humming like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. And when Sam sucks at Dean’s rim, Dean loses himself in the wet, hot press of his brother’s mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s started pleading with Sam to just fuck him now. Which doesn’t make sense because he is enjoying what Sam’s doing so fucking much. And he doesn’t ever want it to stop. But he also wants to be fucked and Sam can’t do both at once.

“Shit, Sammy. Come on, baby boy. Need you to fuck me. Come on, come on, come on…”

“Be patient, Dean,” Sam admonishes, trying to sound like he’s totally collected, but Dean hears the waver in his voice, the crack in his veneer. Sam’s barely holding on. And when he breeches Dean’s body with two fingers rather than his customary one (Sam’s always so gentle with him), Dean knows Sam is on the brink. This isn’t going to last much longer.

Sam prepares him quickly with lips and tongue and fingers. Nothing but spit slicking the way. And Dean holds as still as he can, legs and arms cramping. But he ignores the pain by focusing on the soft feel of the panties caressing his cock and balls, the way it shifts against him every time Sam presses his fingers deep. And when Sam crooks them just right, slides perfectly over his prostate, Dean can’t contain himself anymore. He falls to the bed with a sob, and even as he does, he’s still trying to push his ass toward Sam and not lose his fingers.

“Alright,” Sam offers, voice pitched low, honey rolling over gravel, need etched into every syllable, “Turn over. I want to see your face for this.” Sam pulls his fingers free and then adjusts the panties properly up over Dean’s ass again before swatting him on one cheek to indicate he should comply now. And Dean lets a little whine slip free, but then he does as Sam bid him.

When he rolls over, Sam leans down to dig in the bag at the foot of his bed. He stands up holding a bottle of lube in one hand while he uses the other to unfasten his jeans, the whole time, staring Dean right in the eye. And his face is beautiful. This sweet mixture of sin and love and Dean arches under it. He always finds it so intense to look into Sam’s eyes in moments like this. Because this is wrong. It shouldn’t be happening and they should never have given in. But Dean wouldn’t take it back for anything and, when Sam is hovering over him, intent written all over his face, Dean knows Sam feels the same way. It’s the only time Dean is certain that they both want this. They’re both irreparably damaged. And he’s okay with that. And if the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is any indication, Sam is too.

“Touch yourself, Dean,” Sam orders as he squirts some lube into his palm before dropping the bottle behind him, “rub that pretty cock for me. Let me see how much you love modeling those panties.”

Dean groans and feels his face heat again but the humiliation is minor really. Just a dull twinge under the debilitating arousal. And Sam is watching him so expectantly. So he doesn’t even fight it. He lets his face show just how much this is excites him, but also that he’s a little embarrassed by that fact. And Sam eats it up. Whispers filthy encouragement as Dean drags his hand up and down his length, catching droplets of wetness at the tip and spreading it down the fabric.

“Look so good, Dean. God, I want you in panties all the time. You’re getting them all nasty, baby. Keep rubbing. Just like that. Tuck yourself inside. Want you to come in them.”

And then Sam is sliding the panties to the side and lining himself up, his cock just jutting out the front of his jeans. And Dean knows it’s going to chafe, his dick rubbing against all the clothes in the way while he fucks Dean. But god, he still wants it just like this, and Sam seems to agree. He agrees so much, in fact, that he sinks all the way in, his thick cock stretching Dean wider than his fingers did, in one thrust.

Then he stops, buried to the hilt in Dean’s body, one hand holding one of Dean’s legs up and out of the way while the other folds over the hand Dean is rubbing himself with. He guides Dean’s hand for a few seconds, faster and with more force than Dean was using.

Dean wiggles under that hand, still trying to catch his breath from the shock of having Sam fill him so quickly. He fucking loves this. Always has. Getting fucked is probably top of the list of his favorite things. And having Sam do it? That’s even better.

So when Sam releases his hand, leaving Dean to keep the pace and pressure he set, and grabs both his legs, standing up straight and bringing Dean’s lower half with him, Dean allows himself to be positioned the way Sam wants him. And then it’s on.

Sam fucks him hard, relentlessly, as Dean jerks himself the best he can through his panties. His fucking panties. And Sam is looking at him like he’s the most delicious morsel he’s ever laid eyes on. Like Dean looks better in panties than any women he’s ever been with. And this is exactly what he needed. Not just to wear them, but to be appreciated in them.

“Close, Sammy,” Dean grits, taking every thrust of Sam’s hips and mirroring the rhythm with his own hand. He uses his free arm to reach up and grab at Sam’s shirt and it’s impossible like this, but what he wants is Sam’s mouth on his. And Sam seems to understand how much Dean needs it, because he lowers Dean’s legs and his own body until they’re chest to chest. His hand and his dick are trapped between them now, but the friction is perfect and Sam is still pounding into him, striking his prostate and driving him closer and closer.

When their lips come together it’s more of an open mouthed drag than anything resembling a kiss, but it’s fantastic all the same. And when Dean comes seconds later, he soaks through his panties and Sam’s shirt as well. He’s still trembling from the aftershocks, clenching around Sam’s cock, when Sam begins to pulse, following him right over the edge.

Then they’re just lying in their own mess, Dean still mostly in his panties that, if the way they feel are any indication, are either ripped or stretched beyond repair, and Sam still dressed with his dick out and slipping slowly out of Dean’s ass. It’s awesome. Really.

Finally, Sam groans and rolls off Dean’s body, coming to rest beside him and turning his head so he can place a few soft kisses against Dean’s temple. “Sorry I almost flipped. I just… We haven’t been doing this exclusive thing long and I thought…”

“It’s fine, Sammy. It’s not like I have the best track record. But hey, if misunderstandings get me fucked that well, maybe it should happen more often.”

Sam snorts, “It wasn’t the misunderstanding that got you fucked. It was the damn panties. Who knew you’d look so good in them? Fuck, who even knew I had a thing for seeing you in them?”

“You really like them that much?”

“Hell yes,” Sam replies, reaching up to turn Dean’s head so they’re eye to eye, “I want to get more. I wasn’t kidding about the red lace. Or the pink.”

Dean grins and pulls his lower lip between his teeth already imagining showing off for Sammy in some cherry red, lacy thongs. Or maybe some bikini cut, because Sam really seemed to like these.

“Well pick them out together,” Dean decides.

Sam smiles and nods, reaching up to trace the cut of Dean’s jaw with one finger, “What if I want you to wear them all the time?”

“You’d like that?” Dean asks, incredulously. Because, yeah, he’d thought about it, but wasn’t really expecting Sam to want it.

“Oh yeah,” Sam answers, dragging his finger across Dean’s bottom lip now, and Dean darts his tongue out to flick at the digit.

“Whatever you want, Sammy. You know that. It’s always whatever you want.” And Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: Hey, if you wanna follow me on [tumblr](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/) that would be alright. I don't post much there yet, but I'm considering taking prompts. But that just depends on if anyone is interested. Shoot me an [ask](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/ask) if you have a prompt and we'll see what happens. :)


End file.
